


White Wine, Starlight

by teenagedaze



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Dissociation, Fluff, Fluff and happiness, Hugging, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Years, it's happy I promise, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9139627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenagedaze/pseuds/teenagedaze
Summary: Pete doesn't like New Years, not at all. Patrick's willing to sacrifice his evening to make it all okay.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm honestly not too fond of this, but I'm happy enough with it to post it anyway. You can only get better with practise, right? Or so I've heard. I have so many unfinished projects that I hope to complete sometime soon, but in the mean time I'd appreciate any feedback and I wish you all a happy New Years. Wherever you are, whoever you are; I'm right behind you.
> 
> This takes a little bit from my own neuroses, as ever, but also takes a lot of my love for California. I think I dropped a fraction of my heart somewhere along the Pacific Coast Highway and I want to go back and retrieve it. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy :)

Pete didn’t really like New Year’s.

He didn’t like New Year’s at all. He was already sick to death of people bragging about their resolutions, talking back on everything they could possibly complain about from the last year, promising to have a better year starting on the first of January. Pete, in all honesty, had been having a pretty good year. He called bullshit on the whole ‘new beginnings’ thing, he didn’t want one. He was happy to continue on as he was, he didn’t need an annual rebirth to devalue any progress he had made.

He was supposed to be at this big party Brendon was hosting. Supposed to be, because he wasn’t there yet. He hadn’t even left his couch and it was nearing nine o’clock, Pete wasn’t sure why he was so reluctant to leave. Maybe it was because he was well aware that he’d rather spend the evening watching cartoons with Bronx, having a Star Wars marathon with Joe or laughing through B-movies with Patrick. Unfortunately, Bronx was with Ashlee for New Year and if he wanted to see Patrick or Joe he’d have to haul ass to the aforementioned party. Everybody he knew would be there, according to Brendon, and Pete didn’t doubt it. 

Pete, in an unexpected moment of motivation, stood up to pull the curtains. He didn’t like seeing the bleak darkness outside, he didn’t like the reminder that even Los Angeles had seasons, that it would be another six months until he could sit out in the evening sun until almost ten o’clock. He was watching one of the property-hunting shows on the television, and he paused it while he wandered off to cozy up the house. 

When Pete finally looked out of the window, tugging the ties from around the curtains, he noticed something strange. There weren’t any lights on in the neighbourhood. It was Los Angeles, on New Year’s Eve, and there weren’t any lights. Pete’s mind began to spin and he stumbled backwards, awkwardly. What if everybody had left? What if he was the only person still in the neighbourhood. He was alone in the house, everybody he knew was out and he didn’t even know for sure that they still existed, what if he was the last person left on Earth? Pete felt like he’d slipped through a crack in the pavement, like he’d found himself in some other reality. Some other reality without anyone else, without even his dog. Pete scrambled to find his phone, and he didn’t remember deciding to call but his hands had found Patrick’s contact and the next thing he knew he was hearing Patrick’s voice, cheerful and tinny from some other world.

“Pete, hi!” Patrick greeted, through a haze of chatter and music, “People have been looking for you, are you okay?”

“Oh. You’re at Brendon’s.” Pete realised, it had slipped his mind, “I didn’t want to leave the house.”

“Okay,” Patrick agreed, though he sounded confused, “Are you alright, though? Are you sick?”

Pete looked around himself, the room was so dark with the neighbourhood silent and empty outside, Pete didn’t feel like home and he didn’t feel like himself. He wanted to, well, he didn’t know. He felt ungrounded, like he couldn’t do anything but lay on the sofa. He wasn’t sure he would be able to stand up if he tried, like his brain had disconnected from his body somewhere along the line, floated up into space without giving him any warning. 

“I’m, uh. I’m.” Pete started, “I don’t know. There are no lights on in the neighbourhood, Patrick, where are you?”

“Brendon’s, like you said.” Patrick explained calmly, before asking “No lights on?”

“I looked out the window. Everyone’s gone, Patrick. I thought I was the last person on Earth.” Pete told him, tripping over his words as his hands trembled around the phone. He could hear, somewhere in the back of his head, that his voice was getting shrill and hysterical. Pete felt so numb, though, that he wasn’t sure where it was coming from. 

“It’s okay, you’re not alone. I won’t ever let you be alone, Pete.” Patrick was saying, had been saying for some time before Pete was properly aware of it.

“Okay.” Pete muttered.

“I can be there in thirty minutes.” Patrick stated, “I’m just heading to get my coat, let me tell Brendon I’ve been called home, or something.” 

“Thank you.” Pete whispered as the ambient noise around Patrick quietened, “Thank you, Patrick, I’m sorry for dragging you away from the party.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’d much rather be with you. I’ll be there soon.”

Pete heard nothing more, just the muffle and click of the phone line going dead and then the harsh static noise of his own mind, growing into a roar that pulsed along with his heartbeat. Pete, to fill that airplane-silence that was taking over his consciousness, scrolled absent-mindedly through the music on his phone until he found something relatively calm, and then he counted his breaths. Fours and eights. Pete counted his breath in fours and eights, changing the number according to the tempo. There was a key to remember, too. Fast equals fours. Then, there were one or two tracks that were just too in-between to judge. He’d be inhaling eights and exhaling fours, vice versa or any combination of the two, because the rhythm compulsion was just strong enough to stop him from counting to five. 

If Pete had known that his brain would try and punish him with elementary-school mathematics, perhaps he wouldn’t have chosen music to ruin any fighting chance at sleep. He switched it off. Instead of fours and eights, that internal voice in his head started counting down all the way from two-hundred, after the realisation that one-hundred was not nearly long enough for his brain to start fogging over. Not long enough to push away the paranoia and the static. Pete wasn’t surprised, really, given how he could barely sleep on a normal night in his normal bed. New Year’s Eve on the couch was always going to be a lost cause, he figured. So he drifted, then, in and out of a swimming pool of consciousness.   
Thirty minutes later, almost exactly, there was a knock at Pete’s door which roused him from his fitful nap on the couch. He didn’t have time to get up and answer it, though, before he heard the door swing open and a familiar voice reprimand him from the hallway.   
“Damn, Pete, this isn’t the North of Siberia, turn your goddamn heating down.” Patrick called through to him.  
Pete only grunted in response, loud enough that Patrick knew where to find him once he’d hung up his coat in the hall. He saw the light flicker on out there, a stark contrast to the low lighting in the living room where Pete was huddled up under the throw pillows. When Patrick appeared as an orange-framed silhouette in the doorway, he looked like some kind of guardian angel. He fussed about the lounge for a minute, adjusting the curtains and lighting some of the small table-lamps, before sitting down beside the sofa and reaching up to run his hands through Pete’s hair and let Pete get accustomed to the newly-brightened room. Pete blinked and nuzzled his head closer to Patrick, murmuring as he begun to stir.

“Hey, you don’t need to sit up. Lay back for a minute, I’m not going anywhere.” Patrick reassured in that soft, low voice of his. Pete was grateful for it, but he opened his eyes anyway.

Patrick was dressed-up, for the party, wearing a dark, slim-fit suit and bowtie. Folded up on Pete’s living room carpet, Patrick was starting to look a little more like Pete remembered him. There had been a time when Pete thought he’d been corresponding with some distant lost twin of Patrick’s, somebody with a colder heart and a sharper tongue. He loved every iteration of Patrick, though, of course he did. Pete was just happy to have this familiar Patrick back when he needed him most. Pete had been planning on wearing something similar, he’d even got it ready and laid out on his bed upstairs.

“Let’s go for a ride, huh? People have still got Christmas lights up, we can go have a look.” Patrick suggested after a moment of silence, lowering his hand to hold the back of Pete’s neck.

“Yeah, that’d be good.” Pete answered.

Patrick’s hand hovered above his forehead for a minute, checking for a temperature. His concern was sweet and he asked, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Not. Not really. I feel like I’ve slipped through the cracks in the pavement, I don’t recognise this place. Now you’re here too, and I’m glad I’m not alone, but I don’t want you to be stuck here like I am.” Pete explained, though the words felt clumsy and inadequate in his mouth. 

Patrick seemed to understand, nonetheless, wrapping Pete in a tight hug and whispering, “I promise, we’re not alone. Even if we were, I wouldn’t mind. We’re not, though, I’ll show you. You’ll see. Do you have a coat you want? I’ll go fetch it off the rack.”

Patrick left the room, only for a second, grabbing Pete’s coat and then walking straight back in, helping Pete shrug it on and then leading him out of the door. Patrick’s car was neatly parked on the pavement outside, not in the driveway, and Pete, half-conscious and drowsy, made his way to the passenger door and curled up in the seat, staring at the headlights as Patrick pulled out of the house. Pete’s pretty sure he fell asleep again at some point to the sound of Ziggy Stardust and Patrick’s soft voice along with it, waking up every now and then to see Patrick next to him, which in itself was comforting enough that he could drift off once again.

Pete’s eyes were illuminated in the reflection off a road sign; Patrick had just pulled onto the Pacific Coast Highway. Audrey, the name Patrick had bestowed upon his satnav, chirped out another instruction. Pete wasn’t really listening, instead he’d focused his eyes on the lines on the road as they sped past, blurring into one, long, neverending line. When he thought about it, he knew this meant that they’d gone out of LA. Pete didn’t know why, and he didn’t know where they were headed, so he lifted his head to stare down the road.

“Where are we going?” Pete asked, in the pause between tracks on Patrick’s CD.

Patrick answered, “El Matador.” 

“El Matador.” Pete repeated, “For the countdown?”

Patrick smiled and agreed, “I thought we could go sit on the beach and watch the sea while we ring the New Year in.”

Pete nodded wanly. His head had fallen to rest against the window, feeling the rumble of the tarmac through the glass. He didn’t care too much about ringing the New Year in, but he knew Patrick enjoyed it. Pete was happy to be out of the house, though, the lights and the cars that they passed helped him a little more alive, a little more awake. A little more tethered, like a growing weight that held him in place. Patrick’s conversation was equally helpful, talking about what he’d done over Christmas and the people he’d seen, all those real people and their stories. He was looking forward to seeing the New Year in with Patrick, he realised, more than he’d expected to be.

“Then, we’ll drive up to Santa Barbara. Just the two of us in a little hotel, get our feet back on solid ground.” Patrick continued.

“That sounds nice.” Pete commented, knowing that Patrick would understand his enthusiasm even if it hadn’t been clear in his voice.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, things have been so busy this Christmas. I tried to find time, tried to make time, but I just couldn’t fit everything in. You were busy too, I know, but I’m sorry I didn’t see you earlier. ” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Pete answered, “It was kind of hectic, I don’t blame you. After all, you’re here now, right?” 

“Indeed I am.” Patrick laughed, “Do you want to choose some music? You can go back to sleep, if you want, I don’t mind. You seem tired.”

“As I said, hectic few weeks. Good, but tiring. I wanted to go to the party tonight, but I just couldn’t make myself get up. I guess it’s better that I stayed home, I don’t think I could have stayed at the party for long.” “I’m not going back to sleep. Tell me more about what’s been going on.”

Patrick did, turning down the volume on the music so that he could relay anecdote after anecdote, bouncing between family and friends, gigs he’d been to and people he’d met. He didn’t even need to pause, simply reeling off stories like he’d spent his whole life waiting to do so. Pete liked it, he hadn’t heard nearly enough of Patrick’s stories recently. His voice lilted around the conversations he was relaying, letting beats fall before every punchline and Pete found himself laughing loudly every time Patrick finished a joke. It felt like it used to, sometimes. Back on the bus, if they were bored, they’d take turns telling stories to try and get the others to laugh. More often than not it had worked, too, and while Pete’s were the most outrageous, Patrick’s were always the best.

“Let’s stop here for a minute.” Patrick suggested, “We’ve got time. I just thought I’d get some wine and chocolate, or something, to have down on the beach.”

“That’s cool.” Pete answered, “Can you get me some chips? I haven’t eaten this evening.”

“Of course!” Patrick chimed, “I’ll be back in two secs.”

Pete, now completely awake and engaged, watched Patrick walk towards the door and then kept track of his silhouette as he searched for the drinks and the snacks, weaving in and out of the aisles and towards the cashier, picking up the bag and then heading back out into the darkness, back towards the car. The lights had gone out since Patrick had gone inside and Pete couldn’t find the switch to turn them back on. He’d been scrolling through his phone to keep up with the happenings, keep reminding himself that he was okay. His hands were still shaking a little, from his episode earlier on. The shivers were always the last to go.

Patrick swung open the door and passed the carrier bag over to Pete, who put it down in the footwell, where he could keep it upright. Patrick told him what he’d got, Pete’s favourite flavour of chips and the fancy chocolate, the make of wine and where it was from.

“I thought you weren’t drinking anymore?” Pete asked, a thought that had occurred to him while Patrick was in the convenience store.

 

Patrick nodded, “Oh, I just thought I’d get some in case you want it. I just got juice for myself. Wine’s atmospheric, though, right? For New Year’s?”

“For how long?”

“Since I stopped drinking? A couple of years.” Patrick clarified, picking at his sleeve before turning the key in the ignition, “Just after the break.”

Pete smiled back at him, “That’s a long time.”

Patrick didn’t see. He was looking straight ahead at the road, determined not to glance at the passenger’s side. Clearly Pete had made him uncomfortable. 

“I’m sorry, I,” Patrick faltered, “I don’t like talking about it, really. I’m sorry.”

“I’m proud of you.” Pete told him, “It’s admirable. You’ve done well, Patrick.” 

“Thank you. I, I really appreciate it.” Patrick answered, “We’re nearly at El Matador. Right on time, too.”

There were a few more corners, the road clinging tight to the curve of the Patrick pulled into the dusty parking lot, empty save for one old car with a ‘for sale’ sign in the windscreen. It was a clear night and the moon was hanging large and low above them, a handful of stars dusted like freckles over the night sky, something Pete could never see from the city. He was thankful to see them now, thankful that he could see lights in the sky and in the windows of the houses.

“We should move here, someday.” Patrick mused, looking down the coast at the hilltop properties all with balconies overhanging the sand. 

“Like we could ever afford it.” Pete joked, “Even with album royalties. Unless you’re descended from some ancient British king and just haven’t told me.”

Patrick laughed into the wind, his voice so loud against the quiet of the beach. 

“Let’s head down. I’ve got a blanket and the food, could you grab the flashlight from the glovebox? It’s a bit of a rickety path.”

“Got it.” Pete called out, slamming the door shut and waiting for Patrick to lock the car. 

“The path is just over here.” Patrick replied, pausing until Pete’s torchlight illuminated the gravel beneath his feet, “There are steps a bit further down, but it’s just rocks up until then.”

“It’s alright, I’m right behind you.” Pete told him.

The path down was indeed rickety, a rocky ravine carved by water and wind that wound its way down to the shore, down to the wooden steps at the bottom. Even in bright daylight, Patrick would have been afraid to fall carrying so much. He shuffled with a lot of caution and little grace, asking Pete every five seconds if he was alright back there, if he had an okay grip on everything, if he was okay holding the flashlight. Pete reassured him every time that yes, he was fine, he was holding everything and he was happy to light the way. Patrick looked back over his shoulder with a grin, finally reaching the steps at the bottom. He breathed a sigh of relief and dropped the tension in his shoulders.

“There.” Patrick declared, having laid out the blanket and set the food neatly on top after descending the old staircase, “All ready for the countdown. I’ve got it on my phone.”

“It’s beautiful down here.” Pete breathed.

Patrick grinned back at him, “I know, right? My favourite beach in California.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s secluded, usually quiet, it’s the beach I always bring my family to see when they’re visiting.” Patrick explained, “Also, it’s got some cool rocks.”

He gestured towards a great arch of stone, easily large enough to walk through. Pete stared at it for a moment in something like awe. It looked like a stock photograph of a beach, one of those perfect scenes that you never quite see in real life, except there it was sitting in a rocky outcrop right in front of him. It must be lovely in the sunlight, too, with the waves washing slowly underneath. In the bright night, though, it looked magical. Just like the reflection of the moon on the water, the silence on the highway, the warmth of Patrick sitting right beside him. 

“You can see the stars, too.” Pete pointed out. 

“It’s lovely.” Patrick agreed, “You seem better, now. Do you feel better? I don’t like to think about you feeling down.”

“Yeah, I feel better. I’m sorry about that, by the way. I didn’t really want to put that pressure back on you, just like it was before.” Pete rambled.

Patrick shifted on the blanket and smiled softly back at Pete, “I’m happy to help. I never wanted you to go away completely, Pete, we just needed a break. It’s good now, though. We’re both better, now.”

Pete nodded and rubbed his hands together, “It’s alright. I know that, really. I just get nervous about it all happening again.”

“I’m not leaving again. Not anytime soon.” Patrick reassured, looking down at his phone and excitedly telling Pete, “It’s time. Thirty seconds.”

Pete watched the waves as Patrick counted down. He watched the stars, he watched the gulls on the rock. He watched Patrick, his face lit up by his phone and then not, when he started looking back at Pete. He checked that he was still in time; though he didn’t need to, drummers know their time; and then lifted his head once again. Rather than just counting down numbers, he nodded at Pete and began to emphasise his words.

“Ten, nine, eight.”

Pete joined in, “Seven, six, five, four.”

“Three.” Patrick continued, “Two. One.”

Patrick, for one brief second, looked up to the stars. Then he was staring straight at Pete. For a second Pete thought Patrick was about to kiss him, he hoped, he wouldn’t be disappointed if he did. Instead, Patrick leaned over and hugged him tightly, like he would never let go. Pete returned the gesture, he was just as happy with that as he was with his fantasies. Patrick was warm against the brisk sea breeze, his hands clinging to the wool of Pete’s coat and Pete was just as enthusiastic.

“Happy New Year.” Patrick said, his face pressed into the shoulder of Pete’s jacket.

Pete smiled, rubbed his hand down Patrick’s back where he’d started shaking, and answered, “Happy New Year.”


End file.
